


tangled in three

by redwolves



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22392220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwolves/pseuds/redwolves
Summary: It's a tug-of-war between the two of them, until the rope finally snaps.
Relationships: Constantin d'Orsay/De Sardet, Constantin d'Orsay/De Sardet/Vasco, Constantin d'Orsay/Vasco, De Sardet/Vasco (GreedFall)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 90





	tangled in three

**Author's Note:**

> per tumblr request, i love my poly rarepairs

The first thing Vasco notices about Constantin are his hands.

His fingers are long and slim, exactly as Vasco might’ve imagined of an aristocrat, perfect to curl around the stem of an elegant quill with. Once, he catches them delicately wrapping the soft cloth of a cravat around Tristan’s neck, the tips of them brushing almost casually along his skin, and the image of the act becomes a permanent fixture in Vasco’s mind.

It isn’t until much later, when they’ve arrived in Teer Fradee and those same hands curl over the armrests of a throne, that Vasco also notices the subtly calloused skin on Constantin’s knuckles.

Tristan introduced Constantin as his cousin, though it quickly became clear they’re much closer than such a word can adequately describe. During the voyage to the island Vasco watched the two of them sometimes, the way they seem to orbit each other without even realizing it; for a while after they’ve landed, their separation seems almost wrong, unnatural somehow.

Vasco doesn’t think much of it, at first.

He has no interest in whatever happenings there are between nobles, preferring to dedicate his focus to more productive pursuits. A prince’s heir, the other a diplomat—between their world and his, there is an ocean in the way, one Vasco has no desire in crossing.

Or so he tells himself, _at first_.

But Tristan is kind. Genuinely so. Recklessly so. Eager to take all the world’s problems on top of his shoulders; Atlas suffering a self-inflicted punishment of sorts, only Tristan doesn’t seem to consider it a burden. If anything, that makes it all the more dangerous.

“Perhaps you should take a day to rest,” Vasco suggests to him once they’ve returned to New Sérène after a long journey to San Matheus, but Tristan will not hear it.

Not until Constantin tells him the same.

“Don’t run yourself ragged on my account, dear cousin,” Constantin says to him in the audience hall, gaze attentively trailing over Tristan’s form, over mud staining his boots and the edge of his coat, over the shadows beneath his eyes, taking account of every little detail. “Why don’t you and your two companions join me for dinner in a moment? I could certainly use the distraction, having been cooped up in here all day.”

“I would love to,” Tristan answers without hesitation, and then, as if an afterthought, “if the others agree, that is.”

He looks to Vasco first, and Vasco feels an impulse to refuse out of a spite that rises suddenly inside of him, but Tristan is staring at him with those honey brown eyes that have been haunting his dreams for the past two weeks and his agreement tumbles out of his mouth before he can help it.

Petrus, however, wisely excuses himself, and Síora and Kurt already headed straight for the tavern to unwind upon arrival. That leaves Vasco and Tristan alone to dine with the governor, whose smile is bright when aimed at Tristan, but dims a little when he shifts his gaze to Vasco.

Vasco tries not to take it personally, except as the evening draws on, he’s starting to suspect it _is_ personal.

The princeling is mostly subtle, only hints of his disregard for Vasco’s presence flashing by in his expression and gone just as quickly, but there are moments that are glaring.

When they head upstairs to Constantin’s private dining room, Constantin walks beside Tristan in front of Vasco, sticking close to Tristan’s side as they talk. Constantin doesn’t bother including Vasco in the conversation, which is fine—Vasco is more than accustomed to being ignored by the likes of him—but then.

He glances over his shoulder at Vasco, deliberately, while placing a hand between Tristan’s shoulder blades as if to say, _mine_.

Vasco clenches his jaw, then unclenches it when he realizes what he’s doing, scolding himself for the reaction. He must be reading too much into it. He’s always had a rather colorful imagination that tends to run a little wild when left unchecked, and while his eyes fixate in aggravation on Constantin’s hand lingering on Tristan’s back all the way to the dining room, he is willing to dismiss it.

They’re cousins, after all, and such affection is normal between relatives.

Only, Constantin keeps doing it.

Vasco doesn’t mean to keep track of it, but it becomes impossible to ignore throughout the dinner. A hand on Tristan’s shoulder, an elbow nudging his side, fingers tugging on his coat, Constantin leaning into his personal space, happy to pretend Vasco is part of the furniture while simultaneously glancing at him every now and then for a reaction. Vasco almost catches him smiling once when he sees the glare Vasco is giving him. 

Even Tristan begins to take notice.

Whenever Constantin touches him in a way that lingers a moment too long, or brushes against a place that typically wouldn’t be touched so casually—like his neck, or his chest, and Vasco is trying his best not to stab his fork through his potatoes—Tristan’s response to this is to turn his attention to Vasco.

It’s reassurance. Even with Constantin all but draping himself over Tristan like a needy cat trying to monopolize all his attention, Tristan still turns his eyes to Vasco, still smiles warmly at him from across the table, still laughs brightly at one of his witty remarks and bumps his ankle with too much precision to be an accident. It pleases Vasco, much more than it should, but it also serves to frustrate Constantin even further.

“Captain,” Constantin says near the end of the dinner, properly addressing him for the first time that evening with a smile on his face that Vasco doesn’t like at all. “You seem tired. I’m sure for a man of the sea such as yourself, the recent travels through land must have taken their toll. Perhaps you would like to retire early? I can call a servant to see you to a guest room.”

It’s very plainly noble-speak for _do me a favor and fuck off._

Vasco is on the verge of telling him the same, only he doesn’t intend on coating it in any flowery language when Tristan surprises them both by interfering.

“We are both tired,” he agrees, and any smugness on Constantin’s face at his clever little plan vanishes immediately. “Vasco has done quite well, considering, but I believe both of us could stand to go to bed a little earlier today.”

“That sounds like a fine plan,” Vasco adds smoothly, arching his brows expectantly at the frown on Constantin’s face; a challenge, one which the governor takes up rather unexpectedly with what he says next.

“It does at that,” he concedes, the smile returning to his face before he turns to Tristan beside him and, shamelessly, places his hand on top of Tristan’s leg. “In which case, why don’t you share _my_ bed, my dear?”

Vasco’s mind blanks as Tristan’s lips part in bewilderment, but rather than smack Constantin’s arm aside or scold him, instead he merely frowns at Constantin. He glances at Vasco once, then looks back at Constantin, and he looks at a complete loss on what to do.

Letting the wholly improper and suggestive remark linger in the silence for a while, Constantin belatedly adds, “Like we used to do when we were children, I mean.”

Vasco gets out of his seat so quickly the legs of his chair scrape loudly against the hardwood floor beneath. It is thoughtless, and impulsive, but he’s had about enough of subjecting himself to this nonsense. It has nothing to do with the heat building beneath his clothes as his mind imagines it, the two of them together, and the way his heart pounds as he can't tell whether it frustrates him more that Tristan and Constantin could be together at all, or that they could be together _without_ him. 

“Vasco,” Tristan starts, but _still_ doesn’t remove Constantin’s hand, and Vasco has no more patience to spare. He has no interest in competing.

“Thank you for the dinner, lord governor,” Vasco speaks, bordering on a snap of his tongue as he glares into the triumphant look in Constantin’s eyes. “I’ll see myself out.”

The smug expression falters, replaced with surprise when Vasco starts walking away.

“What, you’re actually leaving?” Constantin calls after him, and it takes all of Vasco’s self-restraint not to hurl a bottle of wine at him as he instead paces straight toward the door. “Come now, don’t be so—”

“Constantin, enough!”

Vasco hears another chair moved back against the floor as he heads out the door, hurried footsteps following him out to the corridor.

“Vasco, wait!” Tristan’s hand grabs his arm, grip steady as it presses through Vasco’s coat and damn his weakness but he can never seem to refuse the legate anything, and so he turns to face him.

“You and your _cousin_ seemed like you wanted some time alone,” Vasco speaks before he thinks. “I’m sorry I got in the way.”

“You didn’t,” Tristan says earnestly. “I wanted- I _want_ you here, truly. It’s only, Constantin has never been good with… sharing. I was his only friend when we were growing up, and—”

“Friend?” Vasco repeats doubtfully and Tristan’s eyes go wide, but not like someone who’s shocked at the mere implication. Rather, like someone who got caught red handed. “Never more than that?”

“No, of course not!” Tristan insists, but he averts his eyes as he says so, avoiding Vasco’s stare. “We’ve never… it’s not like that between us, it’s…”

Tristan trails off, flustered in a way Vasco has never seen him before.

“Clearly, he wants it to be,” Vasco points out, tone sharp enough to make Tristan wince. “Do you?”

Tristan opens his mouth, but there’s no response. Panic flashes on his face when he realizes he’s taking too long to respond. “Vasco—”

That, in and of itself, is answer enough.

Vasco turns his back, not bothering to listen any further, and walks away.

* * *

Every time his dear cousin returns to New Sérène to meet Constantin, the Naut captain is always by his side.

During the voyage, the captain kept a professional distance from them, in spite of all of Tristan’s curious attempts to get to know him better. Constantin didn’t mind it much then, though perhaps that's an understatement.

He’s always been possessed of a singular love for adventure. Ever since Constantin was a child, he would think up outlandish tales in which he and his cousin would be the heroes, and one of these tales included setting sail on a ship in search for treasure. In that respect Constantin has always admired the Nauts for the danger in their profession; his esteem for the man captaining the ship that would take them across the ocean was as high as it could be.

Perhaps that’s why the captain also made for such a great threat.

After all, Constantin could understand why Tristan would be drawn to him, very much so. Who wouldn’t be attracted to such a man, after witnessing firsthand how he weathered through fierce storms without flinching, ensuring the safety of everyone on board? Who wouldn’t admire the cool composure that suited him so well, the calm air of authority as he took command as if he were made for it? Those eyes of his, cutting sharper than any blade, and the rough rasp to that _voice_ …

“Cousin?”

Constantin startles to attention, lifting his chin from where he’d balanced it on his hand, elbow perched on the armrest of his throne.

Tristan is standing in front of him, looking up at him with an unspoken question in his gaze. His companions left a short while ago—the captain had not been among them, doubtlessly because of the dinner the other night—and as he elaborated on the visits he’d paid the other governors, Constantin’s thoughts drifted off.

Not that it’s unusual for him to get caught daydreaming, but usually, he daydreams about _Tristan_. Has he become so consumed by jealousy that the Naut is now occupying his mind more than even Tristan?

“My apologies, cousin,” Constantin says, rising to his feet and stepping down the throne to join Tristan instead. “I’ve become weary of sitting in that stuffy chair all day. Walk with me?”

Tristan frowns at him a moment longer, as if trying to read from his face what he might’ve been thinking about, before he relents. “Of course, lead the way.”

Constantin does, deciding he’s in need of fresh air and taking Tristan to the gardens for a leisurely stroll. From the corner of his eyes he keeps seeing Tristan shoot glances at him, hesitant like he’s deciding whether to speak or not, so Constantin decides to do it for him.

“How are things between you and the captain?” he asks casually. “I hope he wasn’t too upset about last night, I didn’t think he’d be so sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” Tristan repeats dubiously as they walk through a row of carefully trimmed bushes, native flowers blooming from among the branches in pinks and yellows. “You were provoking him, deliberately."

“Was I?” Constantin pauses to bend down and take in the scent of one of them. Sweet, a little bit like honey. He plucks it from its branch, and offers it to Tristan. “In what way?”

Tristan eyes the flower extended to him uncertainly, before finally taking the stem carefully between his fingers. He twists it slowly, considering it, before he meets Constantin’s eyes again.

“You know he likes me.”

There’s a twinge in Constantin’s chest at the words, sharp and sudden, and so he reaches out to clasp the hand Tristan holds the flower with between his own, stepping closer than is safe.

“None of that matters to me,” he says as Tristan stares at him with wide eyes, a soft stutter in his breath as Constantin hears it catch in his throat from slightly parted lips. Constantin resists tracing them with his thumb, but only barely. “He can _like_ you all he wants; I’m the one who loves you.”

“Constantin…” Tristan looks distressed, doesn’t pull out of his grip but doesn’t look like he can bear it either, like he’s being torn in two.

Lifting one hand, Constantin places his palm gently over the mark stretched out over Tristan’s skin, beneath the edge of his beard, cupping it gently. Perhaps it is cruel of him, to try to offer comfort when he’s at least part of the cause of his cousin’s turmoil, but he could never do anything else.

“You know it’s true,” Constantin says softly, inching closer until their hands and the yellow flower clasped in them are the only thing separating their chests. “You’ve always known.”

Tristan gazes into his eyes and Constantin holds his breath because Tristan draws forward a little, glances down at his mouth and for one breathless moment Constantin thinks he’s going to kiss him.

But then his expression is marred with a pained frown and he turns away, pulls out of Constantin’s grip.

“I can’t.” Tristan shakes his head as Constantin’s hands drop to his sides like heavy stones. “It’s not fair to Vasco.”

“Vasco?” Constantin repeats, astonished at first, before the swell of frustration from earlier expands into a boiling beneath his skin. “Forget about Vasco! You don’t need him!”

“It’s not about _need_ , Constantin,” Tristan replies, equally frustrated. “I want—”

He stops himself then, but it’s already too late.

Constantin clenches and unclenches his jaw, fists balled at his side as he spits out the words Tristan could not bring himself to say: “You _want_ him.”

He doesn’t wait for Tristan’s response. Instead, he turns on his heel and stalks off.

“Constantin!” Tristan calls after him. “Where are you going?”

As Constantin passes by the guards stationed at the entrance of the gardens, he orders, “Stall him for me, would you? So long as you don’t hurt him.”

While the guards seem somewhat bemused by his order, they nevertheless turn to keep his cousin occupied while Constantin heads out to sort this situation once and for all.

* * *

It isn’t very difficult to track the Naut down; predictably, he’s at the harbor.

Upon entering, Constantin heads straight for the woman in charge.

Admiral Cabral does not look remotely surprised to see him. Perhaps she’s been expecting this to happen. Heaven knows neither Vasco nor Tristan have made their preference for each other a secret.

“Where is he?” Constantin demands, dispensing with the pleasantries altogether.

Cabral arches her brows at him slightly. “Afternoon, governor.”

Her unimpressed composure gives Constantin pause, and after letting out an irritable sigh he raises his palms in a placating gesture.

“He’s not in trouble,” he starts first, then rethinks. “Well, he _is_ , just not in any official trouble _._ Actually, let me rephrase that: I’m not here in my capacity as the governor.”

“Ah.” The corners of Cabral’s mouth quirk a little, almost as if she’s amused. “A dispute between men, then?”

“Yes, precisely,” Constantin agrees, eager to get this over with. “If I wanted to arrest him, I might’ve done it without marching into your territory without a single guard to back me up.”

“I have a personal policy of not underestimating arrogance.” Cabral crosses her arms over her chest, considering Constantin for a moment before adding, “Or stupidity.”

Constantin wisely decides not to react to the barb as she points him to a warehouse nearby, where Vasco is apparently catching up with some of his old crew. After thanking Cabral for the directions, Constantin head straights for it, ignoring the looks he gets from the Nauts around him. He wonders whether Cabral’s jab at his stupidity was directed toward more than his simply waltzing into her territory without any caution.

Putting the thought aside for the moment, Constantin strides right through the front door of the warehouse Cabral indicated. As expected, he finds Vasco inside, chatting pleasantly with a few other Nauts who Constantin recognizes, having been part of the crew during their voyage to Teer Fradee. Flavia, Lauro and Jonas, if he remembers correctly.

Their presence is irrelevant, however. Constantin only has eyes for Vasco as he heads through the doorway right toward him.

Vasco turns to face him, surprise flickering across his features before it’s replaced by the usual scowl. The sight of it aggravates Constantin even further.

“Governor,” Vasco says, sneering the title as if it were an insult. His companions exchange looks amongst each other, before sensibly deciding to make themselves scarce, leaving the warehouse to go outside and closing the door behind them. “To what do I owe the _pleasure_ of your visit?”

“Oh, drop the act,” Constantin replies with annoyance. “We both know why I’m here.”

“I assure you, I haven’t the faintest—”

Constantin takes a step closer, vindictively delighted at his advantage of height over Vasco as even when the man straightens up at his approach, Constantin still has two inches on him.

Slowly, Constantin enunciates to his face: “Stay. Away. From my cousin.”

Vasco stares at him in silence as his lips part in astonishment, which quickly morphs into indignation as his top lip curls up derisively. “Your cousin is a grown man who can make decisions for himself. _You_ are not his keeper.”

“Clearly I ought to be, if this is the company he’s decided to keep,” Constantin retorts, just as viciously, gaining pleasure from the way it gets to Vasco, pierces through the otherwise perfect composure he always wears, like a painful reminder of what Constantin doesn’t have, of what he isn’t.

And it’s almost just as painful to admit that, because admitting that means admitting he wants it, wants—

“You’re going to criticize the quality of _my_ company?” Vasco snaps, raising his voice and Constantin has never heard him do that before as he now steps closer to Constantin, who finds himself paralyzed by the thought that just struck him. “You, whose only accomplishment was being born a prince’s son? Who has done _nothing_ to earn any of your titles?”

They’re standing practically nose-to-nose now, Vasco’s head tilted up and Constantin’s tilted down as they stare each other in the eyes. Maybe it’s the insanity of the moment, but the thought that if they angled their heads slightly to the sides their lips would fit together perfectly crosses Constantin’s mind, and now he can no longer tell whether his heart beats fast from anger or from something else entirely.

“What could you possibly have to offer him that I couldn’t?” Vasco continues, hissing his breath against Constantin’s lips and the air between them burns hotter than a fire, and maybe it’s getting to his head because Constantin then reaches out and grasps a fistful of Vasco’s coat.

“Nothing,” he whispers.

The anger melts off of Vasco’s face, leaving him looking flustered and in the silence Constantin hears his own heartbeat, and he acts, guided by pure feeling.

He leans in and kisses Vasco on the lips, just soft enough to be gentle instead of hesitant. It’s an invitation, one Constantin doesn’t know if he should’ve extended at all because he doesn’t feel Vasco react, so he breaks away and pulls back.

The moment he does, Vasco grabs him by the lapels of his coat and yanks him back in to crush their mouths together, and whatever doubts Constantin had before completely fade away.

It’s ravenous, ever-hungry and eager as if they’ve been building up to this without knowing it this whole time. Constantin’s hands are all over Vasco while he pushes him back against the wall and Vasco throws his arms around Constantin’s neck, groaning against his mouth.

There’s teeth and tongue in equal measure, spit-slicked lips sliding and sucking, bodies pressed together and Constantin resents the obstacle that their clothes present, settles for knocking Vasco’s hat off his head to tangle his fingers in his hair instead.

“Constantin?”

Tristan’s voice is as clear as a bell as it rings through the room.

Both Constantin and Vasco jump apart like they’ve been burned. Constantin nearly staggers backward, catching himself against the edge of a desk as he looks at his cousin standing in the doorway with wide eyes, staring at the two of them in disbelief.

“Vasco?” Tristan glances from one to the other, uncomprehending. “What…”

“I… I don’t know what happened,” Constantin admits shakily, still out of breath from the crazed kisses that left his lips feeling swollen. A glance at Vasco’s helplessly flushed face and shamed expression tells him he’s not any better off than Constantin. “We- I was—”

Tristan starts to laugh.

Constantin and Vasco gape at him as he presses a hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to smother it, shoulders shaking with it.

“Why…” Constantin frowns deeply. “What are you laughing about? None of this is remotely funny!”

“Oh, on the contrary!” Tristan exclaims, wiping away a tear in the corner of his eye as he enters the room and closes the door. “I think it’s hilarious, in fact.”

Beside Constantin, Vasco sighs, then chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “Even if it is at my own expense, I have to agree.”

Constantin looks from Vasco back to his cousin, bewildered by the turn of events. “You’re not upset at me?”

Tristan smiles fondly at him, crossing the room to take Constantin’s hand in his own as he says, “That depends. Are you still upset at me, for wanting him as much as I want you?”

Constantin looks over at Vasco, who’s staring at his cousin in wonder at such an easy and honest confession, then shifts his gaze to meet Constantin’s eyes, and it stays the same. Exactly the same.

“No,” Constantin answers, still looking at Vasco, almost embarrassed at how he never noticed it before. “I think I know how you feel.”

He only wishes he figured it out sooner.

“What do you think, Vasco?” Tristan asks, unable to keep the smile off his face even as he keeps his eagerness tempered. “It’s going to be a lot of work, but I’m willing to try if you are.”

Vasco glances between the two of them, but then steps toward them, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Tristan’s arm curls around his lower back while Constantin’s drapes over his shoulders and he fits snugly between them as if he were always meant to be there.

“I think we can do better than try.”


End file.
